Changing Reality
by narniaXisXhome
Summary: "That won't happen to us," he promises me. "We'll get through these Games without losing our minds, without killing." "Are you sure? You can't know that for certain," I counter. I've heard that one before. We're just like the others though. R&R!
1. Part 1: The Reality Games: Prologue

**Changing Reality**

**Disclaimer: Unfortunately, Suzanne Collins owns _The Hunger Games_ and any other original names that may pop up. I would LOVE to own Peeta, Finnick, Cinna, and Gale. But I only own the grandchildren and District 0 XD**

**Part 1: The Reality Games**

**Prologue**

My name is Ielletin Mellark. (It's pronounced Yell-ten, so everyone just calls me Yell since it's so much shorter and easier. I would like to know what my parents were thinking when they named me.) I am the granddaughter of Katniss Everdeen, the Mockingjay, and Peeta Mellark, daughter of their only son. I have my father's and grandfather's light blonde hair, a mixture of my dad's gray eyes and my mom's sea blue ones, making mine a very light sky blue. My father inherited Katniss's hunting skills and Peeta's baking. I got cooking from that, from Peeta and my dad-but I cook anything as opposed to only baking-and I can sing. My parents say I got that from my grandmother, that when she would sing even the birds would stop to listen. I don't know about hunting; I've never tried. But I doubt I got hunting.

I live in District 0, the result of the generations after my grandparents' moving from their districts to an uncharted piece of land that was found in Panem on the other side of the Capitol and forming a new district. It was the perfect post-war "photo-op", actually. People from different districts and even people from the reformed Capitol uniting into one.

Life in District 0 is not at all bad. We don't have a specific specialty like the history books say the districts used to before the rebel war. We all just use our talents from our families' districts to stay alive, and we get supplies from the Capitol which is mostly a stone's throw away. My family is well off since not just one but both of my grandparents were victors in the Hunger Games, and my dad invested his inheritance from them and also got a good paying job. My aunt, my dad's sister, inherited their house in District 12; meanwhile, someone had just found the land that is now District 0 before I was even born and my dad decided to go take a gamble and help start up this new district. It paid off.

My grandparents both died when I was a baby, so I don't remember them, but I see their faces often enough on TV and in books and in pictures my dad has. Katniss didn't have my aunt until she was in her late-30s so she didn't have my dad till both she and Peeta were over 40. (Dad says this was because the Hunger Games caused Katniss to have reservations about having kids because she never wanted them to go through being reaped and becoming tributes. It took forever for Peeta to convince her.) By the time my dad was old enough to have kids, me, they were kind of past the age of even being grandparents. They had both been through so much anyway and my dad says they still had the nightmares and flashbacks even as time went on. They died in their sleep, one right after the other, shortly after I was born.

I don't know much about the Hunger Games except for what they teach us in history class and what's in Katniss's book. That the Hunger Games were brutal and involved unnecessary killing. That one boy and one girl from each district were forced in an arena to fight to the death—24 kids in all—as a reminder of what happens when you rebel. That Katniss and Peeta no longer wanted to be pawns in the government's Games. I have read her book over and over, her book about those that died in both the Seventy-fourth Hunger Games and the Quarter Quell, and those that died in the rebellion. I can't decide who my favorite is. Maybe little Rue, who was only 12 when forced into the Hunger Games. Maybe Prim, Katniss's selfless little sister. No, Cinna. Cinna is by far my favorite. Anyway, I read the book often, to remind myself how great we have it now, with no bloodshed, no Hunger Games, no fighting between the districts and the Capitol.

If it weren't for the killings, the Hunger Games seem like they might have been okay. They sound like they would have been good entertainment if they weren't violent or anything. We have very little entertainment these days. Always working or going to school and reading about the Hunger Games and what my grandparents did. Making new friends because my family's famous and everyone wants to be the Mellark grandchild's friend. Maybe I have great stories about Peeta and Katniss that they told me when I was little. When I say I don't, people look disappointed at first, but heaven forbid they stop being "friends" with someone who has Mellark in their name. I only have one real friend. Her name is Norsla, and we were friends even before she knew who I was, since birth practically.

I am just thinking all of this about the Hunger Games being fun without the killing aspect and my fake friends and Norsla when Norsla herself bursts through my front door, face flushed and hair disheveled.

"Yell," she says breathlessly, excitedly. "They're starting again!"

"What's starting again?" I ask, confused.

"The Hunger Games."


	2. Chapter 1

**Changing Reality**

**Disclaimer: I don't own _The Hunger Games._**

**Chapter 1**

I am cooking dinner for my family—cooking is all I seem to do these days, there's nothing else unless I want to hangout with my "friends", because I finished school about a year ago—a stir-fry with meat from a deer my father caught yesterday, bell peppers bought from a market in the Capitol—but I think they came from District 11—and a sauce that is both sweet and sour that I learned to make from a Capitol cookbook—when Norsla bursts in and makes her announcement.

My front door slams open. Norsla looks like she has been running, her face flushed and cheeks red, her hair flying all over the place. "Yell," she says; she's out of breath but I can tell she's excited, that maybe some of the color in her cheeks is from that excitement. "They're starting again!"

I barely look up from my cooking to address her. "What's starting again?" I ask, a little confused.

"The Hunger Games!"

That gets my full attention. I drop the spoon I am stirring with and whirl around to face her. "WHAT?" That is what I get out before I am immobilized as thoughts pour into my head. That is impossible. That cannot be possible. The rebellion. The Quarter Quell. Everything my grandparents worked for, everything they went through, for nothing?

"No, listen," Norsla continues, moving her hands everywhere to make sure I'm listening as she often does when she talks, "it's not like you're thinking." She walks around the counter that juts out and moves into the kitchen where I am working. She takes the liberty of turning off the burner I am making my new recipe on and grabs my arm, then drags me to the main room and sits me in front of the screen since I am incapable of doing any of this myself, since I am frozen in place. But was I not the one who was just thinking about how fun the Hunger Games sound? Forgetting about everything people like my grandparents went through to make sure we have the freedom we have now? The book, the ones who died, all that bloodshed...

I let Norsla sit me down in a chair as she turns the TV screen on. It is on every channel I assume, but we don't change it anyway. Straight from the Capitol. Kizer Flickerman, who is of some sort of relation to the old host of the Hunger Games, Caesar Flickerman, is talking to our current president Pallin, who was elected by us, the people, just like in the old days when Panem was North America.

"Perhaps we shouldn't call it 'The Hunger Games'," Pallin is saying. I am finally able to move, just barely, and I lean my body closer to the screen. "That might set people off. No, this is different from the Hunger Games. This will just be for entertainment, a televised event. We will have no reaping as in the old days. Special contestants—tributes sounds too sacrificial—have already been chosen and will be notified immediately. In the new version of the Games, there is no bloodshed between contestants. It will be televised at only a certain time at night, like a TV program in the old old days, so everyone in the districts and the Capitol can live life as normal during the day instead of wasting time sitting around a screen. No one is required to watch. There will be no punishment if the chosen contestants wish not to participate, but there will be a great reward for the victor: a lifetime of riches and anything else you may need. More details will come, but for now information on how to win and how the Games will be played will be disclosed only to the contestants. Thank you."

Kizer puts the mic back in his own face and starts talking about what a great idea this is, how it will be great entertainment of course but is immensely better than the original Hunger Games because no one has to die—just survive with no electricity, no provided food, etc. The screen goes black as Norsla hits the button on the remote.

"See?" Nors picks me up from the chair. "This will be so _great_! I wonder who they picked! We have to go out and see if anyone in Zero knows!"

This is what I wanted. A version of the Hunger Games minus the killing. I had even said it would be fun. Now I hope against hope I wasn't picked. Sure, if I had some great skill it might be fun to participate. But all I can do is sing and cook. Fat lot of good that does someone in the wild, with no electricity for burners or anything to even _use _for cooking. I can't hunt—though now I wish to myself I had asked to tag along with Dad at least once—I can't start a fire with my own hands. I can't do anything worthwhile, anything outside of my luxurious life.

Just as she starts leading me out by the hand, there is a knock on my front door. I glace at her and she gives me the same look. It's safe now, no one's living in any type of poverty, especially not in Zero, and crime is virtually unheard of because for now there is still peace. Most people just leave their doors unlocked; that's how Nors gets in my house whenever she wants. Knocking is just a courtesy. But no one ever knocks on my front door.

Norsla drops my hand and I pad to the door with her following closely behind. I look in the peephole. That gray and white uniform. I jump back a little. That is the standard dress of the Peacekeeper. Our Peacekeepers are not cruel like the ones during the rebellion days, but there still has to be some form of order and precautions just in case any individual tries to get out of hand. Although they are nice, a Peacekeeper at your door can mean nothing good.

I slowly open the door and Nors backs off just a tad.

"Is there a Ielletin Mellark here?" one of the three asks. He has a very deep voice and a dark goatee, but the hair on his head is sort of thinning. Still, he has wrinkles on his face around his eyes and in places that make him look tough and I would never want to cross him.

"I'm Ielletin," I say, moving out of the doorway and behind the door just a little. "Come on in." I give Nors a jab in the stomach with my elbow because she's literally right on my back and I need to move so they can get in.

The Peacekeepers walk in so formally they're practically marching. I try to keep a straight face. The one who spoke to me before turns to face me once they are inside. "We need to speak with you." He glances at Norsla, who for once in her life is looking down and not chatting his ear off. "Alone." These guys are much more tough than the usual conversational Peacekeepers. Well, the lead one is, anyway. I really don't see the point in sending three, when it's clear he is going to do all the talking.

"I get it," Norsla says. "I'll come by later and tell you what everyone is saying." I also get the hidden message in that: that _she _wants to know everything the Peacekeepers are saying to _me_. She squeezes my arm though as she walks out just to make sure I've got it. Gossip Queen.

I turn my attention back to the Peacekeepers. "Please, have a seat somewhere." They all move to the main room where we were just watching President Pallin's announcement on TV, but none of them sit.

"Can I get you anything?" I ask. "A drink maybe..." I hate that I'm acting nervous. I know for a fact I haven't done anything wrong, or at least nothing to warrant a visit from authorities. I just can't help it.

"No, we're not staying long. Please, Miss Mellark, you have a seat."

I silently obey and go to sit in the chair I just moved from. Finally I get my tongue back.

"What's going on here, Officers?" I see a hint of a smile on the youngest one's face, but he doesn't say a word.

"Congratulations, Miss Mellark," the same Peacekeeper says, and he loses a bit of his toughness as his eyes smile. "You have been chosen as a contestant in the Seventy-sixth Hunger Games."


	3. Chapter 2

**Changing Reality**

**Disclaimer: Suzanne Collins owns _The Hunger Games._**

**Chapter 2**

My world starts spinning, my vision swimming before my eyes. The room is swirling, I can't see anything that's in front of me. I choke out, "Wha—what?" I'm usually pretty eloquent, really good at talking and getting my thoughts out, but today is special, different.

All three Peacekeepers smile, but only slightly. "Someone will be along to fetch you tomorrow," the lead Peacekeeper says. "So you can celebrate tonight and say your farewells until the Games end." Celebrate? Oh, no, Dad will not be pleased. Not at all. But didn't Pallin say chosen contestants could choose not to participate if they didn't want to? If I knew I could survive I would certainly want to, but Dad will not approve either way. Because he's told me the stories of his parents, about how at times—at all times, really—they weren't there, weren't really parents, because the flashbacks and nightmares and blackouts consumed them so. He told me about Haymitch Abernathy, how he turned to the bottle and wasted his life because he couldn't face the way the Hunger Games had changed his reality. Reality.

"You're part of the Elite Contestants," the Peacekeeper goes on, as if I am still listening and have not been wrapped up in my thoughts. "Elites for short."

"Elites?" I ask. He nods. "What are...Elites?"

"You'll meet them tomorrow, when we unveil the contestants. The Elites are...very special contestants. Almost celebrities, if you will."

"Because I'm a Mellark," I say slowly, trying to see the justice. "That makes me Elite. That makes me different from everyone else." I pause as I consider this, then the revelation hits. "That's why I was picked, wasn't it? This wasn't random. Everyone's just dying to know how Katniss Everdeen and Peeta Mellark's granddaughter will do in the Hunger Games. If she's anything like her grandparents. That's really not fair, you know."

The Peacekeeper looks suddenly nervous almost. "That's a matter you'll have to take up with the President," he says, closing the subject.

I usher the three out as I thank them for notifying me. I blow out the breath I've been holding as I close the door behind them. I should probably go find my father. Or maybe I'll just wait until he gets home from work anyway. This is so ridiculous. Seventy-sixth Hunger Games? The very purpose of the Hunger Games was to kill. Pallin was right, if this is so different they should at least call it something other than Hunger Games...

I don't much feel like celebrating as the Peacekeeper suggested. Instead I turn the TV on with the sound low but loud enough where I can hear from the kitchen. I return to my cooking, which is looking dire right now because the burner has been off so long and I haven't stirred and the fat from the meat and the sauce are both congealing.

I sigh and as I turn the burner back on something an announcer is saying from the TV in the den filters into my hearing. "...just released more details about the redone Hunger Games..."

I slowly make my way into the den and turn the volume on the TV up. "There will be contestants called 'Elites', and the list has just been given to us." An image is placed on the screen. It's me. In the back of my mind I hope my Dad isn't watching this from wherever he is. It would be better for me to break the news to him.

"From District 0... Ielletin Mellark!" The announcer is very enthusiastic. Another image is placed on the screen, this time of a male. He has short dark brown hair that is almost black and tanned skin. His eyes are an olive green color. "District 2 gives us... Cyden Hawthorne!" Hawthorne...why does that name sound so familiar? His image leaves and is replaced by another male. This one has straight black hair that just touches the top of his sea-colored blue eyes. He is pale, like me, but even from his image I can tell he is very cocky and thinks he is the greatest gift to women. Or something. He's practically winking in the picture. Good gosh. I mean, I won't lie and say he's not good looking; both he and the Hawthorne boy are gorgeous. But to be so egotistical... "Brought to us by District 4, Flynn Odair!"

Odair...Odair... Suddenly it hits me like a bad cliché. Cyden Hawthorne...Gale Hawthorne! Flynn Odair...Finnick Odair! Katniss's friends that are featured in her book! I'm suddenly sick and immediately cut the TV off. These "Elites"...are either the grandchildren of tributes or grandchildren of famous people who directly had a hand in the rebellion! No. It is official. I will not be participating in the "new" Hunger Games.

This is my resolution as the front door closes. "Yell?" my father calls, then sees me sitting in the den and walks over.

"How was your day, Daddy?" I ask as I stand up and move to hug him. My mother is staying with my Aunt Rosemary, my dad's sister, in District 12 to help her with her newborn baby until Dad is able to get a break from his job and we can all go to Twelve. If I were to participate in the Hunger Games, I wouldn't get to go to Twelve... In the Old Days travel between districts and/or the Capitol was forbidden unless you were a tribute on the Victory Tour or something. Now it's allowed and very common, as the rebellion scattered family members amongst different districts.

"Fine. You should be ready to leave tomorrow when I get home. I'm finally getting off for a few days so we can go see Rosemary and the baby." Rosemary was loosely named after her mother's sister, Primrose. "Did you know she named it Rue?" Suddenly he sniffs the air. "Something smells great, Yell."

"Thanks," I say. "It's something new. It's called a stir-fry."

He hangs coat up by the door then moves to the dinner table. I move to the kitchen to put the food on plates for us. I sit my dad's plate in front of him then settle myself across from him. "Dad, about going to Aunt Rosemary's..." I start. I don't know how I'll tell him this. I'm assuming he doesn't know about the new Hunger Games yet.

"Hmm?" he says around a mouthful of food, looking at me intently.

"It's just that... You remember the Hunger Games? The stories anyway?" I add, since my dad never had to live through them himself.

He swallows the bite of food that was in his mouth then nods very slowly. "Why?" he says finally.

"Well, it seems they are reinventing the Games...restarting them, but making changes, like no killing other 'contestants' as they're called now instead of tributes..." I'm rambling. I wouldn't be so nervous about this if it weren't for the fact that my dad had experienced first hand the aftereffects of the Games... Speech, where are you when I need you?

"And what does this have to do with going to District 12?"

"Well... I've been chosen. As a contestant. For the new Hunger Games."

He pauses for a while. Finally, he says, "I don't like this, Yell. At all."

"Well...President Pallin said no one chosen will be punished if they don't participate. But it's just for entertainment. No blood will be shed..."

He still isn't convinced. "Let me think it over. In the meantime, get packed."

"But that's the thing," I say, finally getting to my point, "they're coming to get me for the Games tomorrow."


End file.
